


It's a Thing.

by softgrungeprophet



Series: Pretty Face, Electric Soul (domestic sabriel au) [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Affection, Desperation, M/M, Scratching, Tattoos, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For day 4 of sabriel week: PORN. I used the prompts with tattoos and desperation, in weird vague ways. Hah. And I hadn't a clue how to start so you can thank drowsyfantasy from Tumblr for that. Their prompt of connect-the-dots w/ tattoos acted as a springboard for this.<br/>It's not particularly graphic but it's certainly inappropriate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Thing.

Much of the time Sam woke in the morning covered in scratches.

It wasn't the sort of thing he paid much mind to. It was the sort of thing where, whether the sex was teasing or straightforward or even just foreplay, Gabriel would dig his fingers in and not let go.

If Sam kissed him, he pulled Sam's hair until it turned from simple presses of their lips to basically mouthing at each other like horny teenagers. If Sam licked his collarbone or neck or anywhere else? Gabe clutched his shoulders and slid his hands all over Sam's front and sides and wherever he could reach. Sam nipped at his jaw and hips and throat and thighs, and Gabriel clawed at him distractedly, drawing red lines down the skin of his back, shoulders to hips, across his sides, down his arms and chest. And that was just the small stuff. But his nails rarely drew blood, and more often left slightly sensitive scarlet streaks in their wake.

Sam retaliated with hickies and bruises until Gabe gave in enough to beg, and Sam loved that. Loved how the ex-Trickster Fallen angel, who had once possessed the power to warp time and space and kill a man with a snap, melted under Sam's touches and squirmed and mumbled his name and breathed, "More, more" so quiet he could barely hear.

Sam's favorite thing to do—other than draw forth such a sweetly pleading tone—was to kiss every inch of Gabriel's body, and bite his way along the edges of each tattoo. Sometimes through the entire patterns if he felt wicked and patient, sometimes just along the outer shapes. He liked to lace their fingers together and do nothing more than lap at, and press his teeth lightly into, the anti-possession symbol inked black against Gabriel's throat until Gabe's breath came in gasps and his toes curled.

Liked to stroke the golden heart on his chest and spread his fingers down the wings that feathered from it. Liked to nibble at the inside of Gabriel's wrist and up his arm, following the black work to his elbow and to his shoulder where it ended in thorns. Liked to run his hands over the rose garden on Gabe's other arm and down into the sunset that stopped off in trees and a thick band of darkness before his hand.

He liked to kiss the swallows behind his ears.

And he liked to pin Gabriel's hips to the bed and suck him off, and he liked to kiss all the way from the bottom of his foot to the inside of his thigh where a ram's skull curled its horns, and he liked to kiss his mouth 'til it went pink, and never look away. Liked to watch Gabe crumble.

Gabriel liked these things too, but lacked Sam's patience. (Sometimes _Sam_ lacked this patience as well, but not as often as Gabe.) So he tended to fall into ordering Sam and swearing, commanding that he do something rather than asking, because "Archangels don't ask for a blowjob, dammit." (Or anything else, it seemed.) Orders, however, acted as a guarantee for Sam to tease. Gabriel said, "Do that again," and Sam smirked and ignored him and trailed feather-light kisses down Gabe's sides and over his face and down his stomach until Gabriel made little frustrated sounds in his throat and finally let out a begrudging, "Please" or Sam took pity on him, and then Sam's movements took on a determination, a goal.

And he would unravel Gabriel in minutes, until he was practically a puddle beneath him.

All pretenses and joking and nicknames would drop, and the plainness and vulnerability that laced through Gabriel thrilled Sam, and he made every second a second worth remembering.

And Gabriel would lay there, about ready to pass out—he always fell asleep so quickly after sex—and Sam would roll his eyes and get rid of the used condoms and make sure everything was in order and clean, and then he would nudge Gabriel to lay on his side and pull him into his arms so their chests pressed together and their legs twined under the sheets, and they fell asleep like that. With Sam running his fingertips over the stained glass spread like wings over Gabe's shoulder blades, and blue stippled Yggdrasil over his lower back and the layered rose at the base of his neck, feeling the slight differentiation between blank and inked skin. And Gabriel sighed against him and drifted off immediately.

And Sam would wake in the morning aware of the scratches he'd accumulated the night (or morning, sometimes) before and smile and kiss each little crescent-shaped bite mark and bruise on Gabriel's body, until Gabe batted at him and demanded either breakfast or more sleep.


End file.
